Shadow of the Conqueror

by Shad M Brooks

  Cueseg looked at Lyrah in such astonishment that she burst out laughing.

  “Why are you doing this, what is funny?” Cueseg said, bewildered.

  “Your face, Cueseg! And here I thought you didn’t like using facial expressions, but right then you looked like I had just turned into a goat.”

  Cueseg suddenly looked deeply embarrassed, or embarrassed enough, for he tried to make his face impassive. “I… This… I choose to show my face like this to show how unclean it is that you like to eat rust.”

  “Cueseg, I was joking.”

  “Then you lied?”

  “No, it’s sarcasm.”

  “Sarcasm is not to joke, you must mean what you say.”

  “I do…except when I don’t.”

  Cueseg’s blank expression cracked once more. “This… What… This does not make sense!”

  Lyrah shrugged. “I’m a woman. We’re allowed to not make any sense.”

  “What?!”

  “Exactly.”

  “This is enough, you hurt my head. Strange woman!”

  Lyrah chuckled to herself one last time as she felt the ship descend. It would still take a little while to reach the city and queue to enter its airspace.

  Cueseg got back to choking down his beans before throwing the can away in disgust once he was finished. He picked up a handful of letters and cleaned his hand with them.

  “Cueseg, you don’t clean your hands with letters! Light, that’s what the fork was for!”

  “How do I clean my hand with a fork?”

  “No, you use the fork to eat your food and then you wouldn’t have to clean your hands in the first place.”

  “I am not a barbarian…” Cueseg paused. Lyrah guessed he had just remembered to not call her that. “I am not war maker. I do not use fork.”

  “How does using a fork make me a war maker, whatever that means?”

  “Simple, it can be used as weapon. You do not bring weapons to eat. Eating is for peace. Only war makers eat with weapons.”

  “Your hands can be used as weapons, too.”

  “They are not meant to be weapons. You use hands to fight only when you have no weapons, and hands are not as good as weapons. Even fork better than bare hands, which is why for peace, you must not fork.”

  “You must not fork? Cueseg, fork isn’t a verb.”

  “What is verb?”

  “A word that means a type of action.”

  “Then I make it verb and I will never fork.”

  “You sound ridiculous.”

  “No, you are ridiculous, and you can fork as much as you like.”

  “Whatever,” Lyrah said, waving a hand.

  Cueseg huffed and stood with his back to Lyrah. He began to go through the ritualized series of movements he did at the beginning of every fall, the same time as Lyrah usually went for her run.

  She sighed in annoyance, as a long run would have done her good. She felt restless and frustrated, though teasing Cueseg had helped.

  Cueseg was clearly practicing some type of martial art, but it appeared far more formal than anything from Hamahra.

  The ship eventually docked and Lyrah bid the pilots goodbye.

  It was the break of High Fall. Many people were just now arising, yet the city seemed to be in commotion, and it didn’t take long to find out why.

  “Extra! Extra, Dayless the Conqueror has been living in hiding for last twenty years! Read all about it!”

  Lyrah nearly fell over when hearing the call.

  “By the Bright One!” Cueseg said, looking to the paperboy in astonishment.

  There was a crowd of people clamoring around, practically ripping the extras out of the boy’s hands.

  With her free bond, Lyrah channeled light into her voice and said, “Move!”

  Bonding light to one’s voice would not only increase the volume of what one said, but it also had a supernatural effect to encourage obedience, agreement, and understanding, depending on what one said.

  Added that to the fact that Lyrah was an Archknight, the people parted at once.

  Lyrah marched upon the paperboy and extended her hand. The boy handed her an extra with a trembling hand.

  She read.

  Apparently some farmer from a village named Karadale had found a note in the home of the local tinker, written by the same, confessing that he was actually Dayless the Conqueror. That he had escaped his supposed defeat twenty years ago and had been living in secret up until the last few falls where, upon his imminent death, he chose to cast himself from the edge of the world to die on his own terms.

  Adding to the validity of the claim was a book found at the scene which contained an accounting of the Conqueror’s life. A Lightbringer was also present during the discovery, who had both met the tinker and seen the Conqueror when he ruled, confirming their resemblance in appearance and voice.

  On top of all, it appeared that Dayless had fathered a son in his old age, who was present when the Conqueror had cast himself from the continent. Also named Daylen, he was supposedly the express image of his father.

  There were even two drawings which had been printed next to the article, one a representation of what the artist thought Dayless the Conqueror would look like in old age, scowling and malevolent, and another a young man who simply looked like Dayless the Conqueror in his youth.

  The images nearly stopped Lyrah’s heart from the shock.

  The extra claimed that this was all discovered on the eve of last Low, only taking a fall for the information to reach the city and get out.

  Lyrah’s fist slowly crunched the extra bit by bit. She clenched her teeth and took stock. She would control herself—she was an Archon, she was strong—but Light, was it hard.

  Anyone old enough to have lived during the Conqueror’s reign, like Lyrah, could name one if not several things he had done to ruin their lives. There was no one in the world Lyrah despised more than the Great Bastard.

  All had cause to hate him; and now, knowing that he had been living in peace for twenty years, was almost too much to bear.

  His note claimed that living with his guilt had tortured the Bastard, but Lyrah didn’t believe that for a second. He had been a coward to the end. If he had been truly sorry for what he had done, he would have turned himself over to the world’s judgment; yet at the end of his life, he couldn’t even do that.

  And he had fathered another child? This son, this Daylen, could be a great threat and needed to be questioned, but that was a matter for the authorities. At least the world—and, indeed, Lyrah herself—finally had confirmation that the Conqueror, the filthy perverted wretch, was now dead.

  Of course they thought they’d had confirmation for the last twenty years, so could they be sure of anything? All the more reason why the son needed to be questioned. If only to confirm the truth.

  Lyrah stood for a little while with a face frozen in disgust as she took long, controlled breaths to calm herself.

  Once she felt she was back in control, she tried to tell herself that it didn’t concern her. She had a mission to focus on.

  Lyrah threw the scrunched-up extra aside and left, Cueseg following behind.

  Cueseg wanted to talk about the article—he was quite amazed by the revelation. Dayless had conquered Tuerase as well as most of the world, so the news was as poignant to him as it was to anyone from Hamahra. Lyrah couldn’t handle it, however, and answered abruptly to each of his comments.

  She focused on their mission and, after locating the dock where the boy had arrived, she bound light to her sense of smell and eventually found his scent. She couldn’t help but constantly picture an old man as she tracked him. This frustrated her, because subconsciously she expected this boy to be moving at the same trudging rate one usually attributed to older people, which certainly wasn’t the case.

  They tracked the boy to a road out of the city heading south. Luckily their quarry was on foot, which made the tracking much easier, and Cueseg commandeered the fastest coach
they could find: a sleek, sporty sky coach.

  The coachman was accommodating, of course, and clearly nervous to serve two Archons.

  They flew through one of the smaller openings in the shield net, one which sat near its base, made for coaches and the like, flying as fast as possible.

  Lyrah ordered the coach to fly low and opened her side window to keep track of the scent. The sleek coach, almost like a racer in design, moved at an incredible speed, which caused the wind to whistle outside.

  Sky coaches like this were built for the elite of society, and the interiors were furnished to suit. Such lavishness made Lyrah’s skin crawl for several reasons, one in particular threatening to bring on a panic attack.

  Cueseg on the other hand was lounging amongst the cushioned seats and pillows, eating a small cake he had found along the way, looking completely at ease.

  Lyrah had thrown the cushions away from her like they were infected and now sat there gingerly, taking deep, even breaths.

  “Ah, this is much better,” Cueseg said. “A nice carriage, and this cake is not awful, but still not good. May the Bright One be praised.”

  Looking for anything to distract her from the décor, Lyrah sought conversation, as precarious as that could be with her companion. “Who is this Bright One you keep referring to? I assume it’s the Light, but the way you speak of it, it’s like you believe the Light is a person.”

  “Not a person like us, but most certainly embodied.”

  Now that comment did distract her. “Wait, you think the Light has a body?”

  “Yes, it is clear that the Light has more substance than you Hamahrans think.”

  “That’s ridiculous. How could the light see all things if it was restricted to two eyes like us?”

  Cueseg laughed. “It is what you Hamahrans believe that is ridiculous, and we Tuerasians are not the only people who know the Light has a body. The people of Frey believe that God has a body, though it is true we differ much after this belief.”

  “God? What does that mean?”

  “It is another name for the Light.”

  “God… What an ugly word. It sounds like a name for a pimple. Like, bother, I got another God on my face.”

  Cueseg leaned forward angrily. “You speak blasphemy, Lyrah!”

  “Sorry. Light, I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Then do not speak like this again!”

  “Sure, fine.”

  With that, the conversation was truly over. Looking out the window, Lyrah tried to make note of everything they passed. They flew over the occasional person on the road and even a ground-based coach traveling in the opposite direction. Lyrah could have seen the people clearly if she had bonded light to her eyes, but it was unlikely that their quarry would still be on the road. Besides, tracking the scent was more important, and it was even stronger now, meaning they were closing the distance.

  “Nothing much can be said for the food in your country, but at least your people know how to be comfortable,” Cueseg said, his body spread over the cushions.

  Lyrah threw a disapproving glare at Cueseg, who took on a puzzled expression.

  Oh, Light, Lyrah thought, remembering that Cueseg couldn’t read subtle facial expressions and probably thought the glare was some sign of sexual attraction—or at least that’s what he would have thought before they’d had their little chat.

  “I can tell that you didn’t understand what my look meant.”

  “That is because speaking through face is a sign of…no control.”

  “Yes, so Tuerasians don’t like to show facial expressions…”

  “No, this is not true. You have seen me speak with my face. Look.” Cueseg put on a very pronounced look of displeasure. “We show faces that we want to show. Letting the face speak by itself is a sign of weakness. Feelings are to be controlled, so a strong mind only show the things with his face that he want to show.”

  “But you still can’t understand subtle facial expressions.”

  “Yes, this is hard for me. If you do not tell me, I think the look you give me is to have sex.”

  “Why under the Light do you think that? It’s like everything you don’t understand must be a sign of sexual attraction.”

  “Because I show my body, and my body is strong and beautiful. Most women who look at me, and men who like men, is thinking of sex. Sex is the strongest of feelings and the hardest to master. Among my people, the feelings that most people show but do not wish to show are those feeling about sex.”

  Lyrah nervously curled her fist tight as Cueseg spoke so unashamedly.

  “So the feelings that people show among your people,” Cueseg continued, “I think must be about sex, because it is those feelings that are more shown among my people who have not mastered them. This is much more for men. You see it is the most, um…bad sign of weakness for a man’s penis to become strong…”

  “CUESEG!”

  “What, what do I say that makes you so?” Cueseg asked with all the innocent naivety of a child.

  “Stop! Just…just stop.”

  “You always act strange when I speak of this, which is strange, for you are very old and must have sex many times. It is just sex.”

  “No, Cueseg, it’s not! It’s never just…just sex!”

  “I am confused. You must master these feelings, Lyrah, or these feelings will come to master you.”

  That comment stung more than Cueseg could ever know. Lyrah turned away to look out the window and said no more.

  Thankfully Cueseg said nothing, either, and they traveled in silence.

  Eventually, the scent that Lyrah had been tracking suddenly peaked.

  “Stop!” Lyrah ordered the driver.

  “What is it?” Cueseg asked.

  “The scent, it’s very strong here.”

  The sky coach circled and landed on a clear field of grass near some old brick shack.

  Once out of the coach, Lyrah easily identified the source of the heightened scent. It was the hovel she had seen as they circled. It sat on the side of the road with ten Civic Guardsmen surrounding it. Several suited men stood in front of the house, conversing.

  “What is this?” Cueseg asked.

  The constables saluted both of them as they approached.

  “Lady Archon,” a constable said. “I, um… I didn’t realize the Order would have an interest in this, but now I think of it…”

  “An interest in what? Whose home is this?”

  “You…you don’t know?”

  “Would I be asking if I did, constable?”

  The constable was paling. “Well, um, it turns out that this is the home that Dayless the Conqueror had been living in, while in hiding.”

  “What!”

  “Yes, most unsettling.”

  Lyrah couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Lord and Lady Archons!” a portly man said respectfully, dressed in a tailed suit and top hat. A bejeweled cutlass hung at his side and he was flanked by three similarly dressed men, as well as a commoner. “I am the Magistrate of Karadale, Laramon of the Devashion family—and with me is Councilman Kuratail Devashion, Master Tarem of the Hanothore family, and Master Paradan, one of the local farmers. We are honored by your presence.”

  Karadale, Lyrah realized. That was the village mentioned in the extra.

  “Magister,” Lyrah said, trying to regain her composure. “You are certain of this? That this is the home Dayless the Conqueror spent his final twenty years in?”

  “Um… Yes, Lady Archon,” the magister answered haltingly, before continuing with haste. “Truly, none of us had any idea, and if we had, we would have taken appropriate action to bring the war criminal to the authorities!”

  “Your superiors will deal with that,” Lyrah replied with difficulty. “I’m looking for someone. A young man, blue hair, and he spent a good amount of time here very recently.”

  “Yes, the son.”

  This is what Lyrah had been dreading ever since realizing whe
re they had come.

  “He spent the Low here with a Lightbringer,” the magister said. “Master Paradan here met the two and was the one to find the note and journal.”

  “Describe the boy to me,” Lyrah demanded of the farmer.

  “Of course, um, Lady Archon. Well, he was a surly lad with a chip on his shoulder, that’s for sure. Actually a lot like the old tinker.” The farmer scowled. “Dayless the Conqueror… He had blue hair, was fit, tall. Aside from age he looked and sounded just like his father. Yeah there’s no question he was the tinker’s son, and there’s no doubt the tinker was Dayless the Conqueror, what with the things we’ve dug up in this old house here. Makes my skin crawl knowing who lived here.”

  “What have you found?”

  It was the magister who replied. “There was a journal containing an account of the Conqueror’s life, as well as several personal items that have been identified as belonging to the Conqueror. We also found money. Lots of money.”

  “Has anyone else spent time here recently of a similar description, young with blue hair?”

  “Apart from his own son, no, not to my knowledge at least.”

  That settled it. The description combined with the scent trail meant that the young man they hunted was the son of Dayless the Conqueror, and he was not an Archknight. There was no way a boy who looked exactly like Dayless the Conqueror could have joined the Archknights without anyone, especially herself, noticing. This also explained why the boy’s scent was faintly familiar, and why he smelled like an old man, having lived with his aged father.

  Lyrah looked to Cueseg, who had a knowing expression. He’d put it together as well, except he probably thought the boy had underwent his own Vigil after dedicating his life to fighting evil.

  Lyrah didn’t know if that was truly necessary anymore. There was no way the child of the greatest tyrant the world had ever seen would be selfless enough to dedicate his life to such a cause. The boy might have even murdered someone: that beggar in the alleyway. There might be no moral requirement to become a Lightbinder, only the Vigil. Now if this was true, Lyrah understood why the knights would lie to the world. Better evil men think they’re morally disqualified from getting the powers than simply not knowing the secret. If anyone could become a Lightbinder, what would people do to try and learn the secrets of the Vigil?